Sentenced at Birth
by MaMa HedgeHog
Summary: Twelve years ago, 7th year; something terrible happened to the Golden Trio. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley disappeared, Hermione Granger became a nobody and the Wizarding world plunged into the Dark Lord’s reign. Now, 12 years later armies are rising again
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHORS NOTE: Was having trouble concentrating on studying(shrugs). Hope you like it. I'm not sure if this is going to turn into a full-fledged story because I have no idea where this is going But if I do have enough reviews it might sway mind that way. ENJOY!**

**SUMMARY: **_Twelve years ago, 7__th__ year of Hogwarts something terrible happened to the Golden Trio. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley disappeared, Hermione Granger became a nobody and the Wizarding world plunged into the Dark Lord's reign. Now two armies are rising, the Crusaders led by Hermione and another darker army with a mission to kill led by the people from Hermione's past. Yet both inevitably have the same goals. _

The dark hooded figure walked down dirty alley, not sparing one glance at the homeless lying around. She saw beggars everyday; Homeless, sick and dying. Her footfalls made a splashing noise, and the mud beneath her worn boots seem to splatter whenever she took a step. No one noticed the dirtiness. Everyone was too busy trying to avoid catching deathly diseases and saving themselves from the death plague.

The death plague was reminiscent of the Wizarding black death plague in 1670; only it was much more dangerous and an infinitely more painful way to go. She didn't care; she just wanted to leave this God-forsaken place. Dead or alive.

She squinted at the distant flame, trying to decipher if it was place she had come looking for. Affirming her earlier observation, she walked, those squishy footsteps quickening towards the flame. She was careful to keep her face hidden. She tugged the hood even further down her face, and wrapped the worn cloak around tightly. The prickling at the base of her neck told her that she was being watched. But then she was always being watched. Even though no one was suppose to know that she was alive, obviously someone did know. They were watching her. She shivered involuntary as she caught sight of a dirty looking man squinting at here. She bowed her head. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention. This was the alley of blood-traitors. And they didn't take as kindly to her kind- mudbloods and muggles as they once might've done. The war had turned them bitter. Bitter with despair and anger at the fact that Harry Potter had not saved them. That the so-called blood-traitors had not died when they lost. Instead, they were forced into a life of fear and plague. Those who once held heads high and called themselves Harry Potter's supporters had been failed by him. Their hero had disappeared before the war with his best friends. Their hope had died.

_If only they knew what really happened. If they only knew Harry Potter hadn't betrayed them; Hadn't run away. They didn't know what had happened that terrible night twelve years ago, when the fate of the world had been irrevocably finalized._

She neared the hovel-like structure which sported the flame. The hovel looked more like a pigsty, built of stray pieces or termite-eaten wood. The fungus grew on the crude walls. There was a damp, pungent smell about the place. The torn excuse for a curtain was parted to reveal a thin, tall body lying on a make-shift mattress on the floor. The cloaked woman gently pushed the curtain aside, mindless of the fact that she had entered someone's home. All she wanted to see was the face attached to that body. Her heart was pounding at the thought of seeing someone familiar for the first time in eleven years. Her hands were trembling and frantic. She hoped beyond hope that this time her sources were right; that this was a connection to something that she once lost. She wrenched down the cloth from the body and her heart thudded at the sight of a face she had despaired of ever seeing again. The familiar red hair, and freckled face; Asleep and covered with a rag. Ginny Weasley looked so much thinner than she remembered. Her face was dirty, gaunt and bruised; her once-lustrous hair lanky and severely chopped. The observer's eyes filled.

_Oh Ginny…what happened to you?_

The hooded woman wiped her eyes and silently debated whether to wake her. Suddenly Ginny stiffened in her sleep.

"Harry…"

The name tumbled from the sleeping woman's lips in a ragged, hoarse whisper. The guilt that shot through the thin body of the hooded woman, nearly staggered her. It was the type of guilt that she hadn't felt in almost four years of living in this hell-hole.

"Ron? Where are you?"

Ginny's pitch was a little higher. Like a girl of eleven and not a women of twenty-seven. She was reliving a child hood memory. This time it wasn't guilt that made the standing woman stagger. It was pain. Even after eleven years dissolution, this gaunt, pale, dirty woman still dreamt about her brother and lover. The thin figure, crouching over the sleeping woman stumbled back clutching Ginny's threadbare blanket in her hands, knocking off a glass she hadn't noticed before. The sleeping woman jolted awake with a gasp. Her blue eyes widened at the sight of the wooded figure and she whirled and grasped the wooden staff she kept for defending herself. She lurched herself off the ground and brandished the staff at the cloaked figure, sitting on the ground.

"What the fuck do you think you were doing?"

A sob wrenched from the figure.

"_Ginny?"_

Ginny almost fell back on hearing her name from the female.

"Who are you?' she demanded at the figure.

Instead of answering the jumped on her feet and whirled around, shielding her face as the hood fell of her head to reveal a messy head of familiar brown curls. Before Ginny could utter another word, the woman stumbled and ran away from the red-headed woman as though her life depended on it.

"HERMIONE!"

Ginny's hoarse shout didn't slow her down; didn't stop her.

The Weasley girl couldn't believe it. After years of looking for Hermione Granger, she had walked towards them. She had to contact her superiors. They all had almost given up hope. But the witch was alive. She still survived. She would be brought in soon if Ginny had anything to do with it.

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The thick damp air burned down Hermione's lungs as she struggled to breath. She ran as far as she could go, as fast as she could go. Some people were turning to look at her but she didn't care. All her worries about being inconspicuous had been dissipated from her mind in her insane haste to get away from the familiarity she'd thought she wanted; far, far away from Ginny. She ran out of the dim alley and braced herself for the bitter darkness that was sure to envelope her as soon as she stepped out of the vicinity of the blood-traitors. Even the normal streets were lined with the homeless muggles. Voldemort didn't bother with killing. He tortured by breaking families apart, burning down houses and unleashing bio-chemical viruses in the atmosphere.

Hermione spend most of the last ten years taking advantage of the fact that no one knew her; or even bothered to. She prepared herself and even dared to enter Diagon alley. She didn't have anything to lose. Her parents had disappeared along with the others. She didn't even know if they were alive. In the years everyone had forgotten about Hermione Granger. But seeing Ginny had sent a serious jolt through her. If she rekindled their acquaintance she would come to care again. The only thing Hermione could afford to care about were the Crusaders; Hermione's recruited army. The army wasn't really an army. It was more of a community of muggle-borns and muggles who were yet to be afflicted with viruses. It was make-shift medical sojourn. They cared for the sick. Half-blood insiders at the ministry, muggle-borns from muggle hospitals were smuggling medical supplies. The muggle–borns were recruiting muggle doctors. It was a growing-breathing community. That's all Hermione had to care about. She helped muggle doctors isolate resistant strands of DNA from genes and smuggled them back to their medical facilities.

But even as these thought invaded Hermione's consciousness, as she slowed down, she knew it was too late. The seed was planted. The violent urge to make it right was reincarnated. Hermione's strictly professional mission had been rendered emotional by one glance at her long-ago friend.

The young woman briskly walked without glancing around. Her footsteps were practiced as if she'd come this way a thousand times before. Her impromptu discovery by Ginny Weasley wouldn't sit well with her people. The army was growing everyday. The fear of discovery by the pure-bloods was fiercer than ever. She couldn't tell anyone. Even though the Crusaders were helping the diseased, they wouldn't hesitate to assassinate a pure-blood--blood traitor or not- if they were threatened with discovery. It was a rule Hermione herself had reinstated. After all, survival was the ultimate goal. Maybe not for her, but for everyone else: that was all they cared about.

The Crusader, in ten years of existence had helped millions of people and saved thousands of human. Most of these people, after being cured, signed on for staying with them. Especially the muggle-borns. After being stripped of their wands, their choices were extremely limited. Join the Crusaders or wander around aimlessly. It wasn't a very tough choice to make. Magic in most cases was a spontaneous burst of temper. Even though the pure-blood detected it, they didn't bother. As long as the mudbloods were kept away from wands, everything would go as planned.

Hermione walked till she saw the last sleeping human on the floor; The Crusader guard. The community lived in plain sight, with hovels of their own. During the day they bustled about like a village. However at night, everyone retreated to their homes and into the underground fortress under the guise of sleeping. An underground fortress which took almost four years to rejuvenate for human use. The Crusaders collected everything: from broken marble to stones off the street. The fortress, Hermione had assumed when the first discovered it, was an abandoned underground military base. Possibly built in case of natural disasters. It was perfect to carry out missions and start bringing in patients. They were beds and minimal amount of supplies to tend to their own wounds. Next thing Hermione did was to fish out contacts. People who were muggle-born but had experience in healing. And thus started the Crusaders. Hermione walked to her abode and instead of entering the fortress, she sank onto her make-shift mattress, removed her boots and lay her head down. She closed her eyes and felt for the rune at the back of her neck and breathed a sigh of relief. Then she felt for the next one above right breast. Both of them were still etched into her skin. She was connected to them by the oldest form of magic. They were still alive. Harry and Ron were still alive.

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"You _lost _her?" the man in traveling cloak roared at Ginny. He was a tall man, dressed in black, jet-black hair long enough to brush the collar of his cloak. His once-round cheekbones were chiseled and slashed. Dark eye-brows furrowed, he glared at the woman standing before him. Ginny wasn't intimidated. She tipped her face, defiantly.

"What did you expect me to do?" she asked, scathingly "Run after her?"

"That would've been smart." He hissed.

"What happened to 'you're not a field agent, you will just report'?" Ginny snapped.

"Damn it Ginny" he wanted to kill her "This _not _about you!"

Ginny pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him.

"You think she would've stopped if I ran after her?" she retorted "she was already freaked. If I tried anything she would've disappeared again."

He knew she was right but it didn't make him any less angry. He stared at the defiant woman before him, his once-lover. He wondered where his feelings for her had gone. He wondered if she had any left for him. Fighting a passive was getting to him, burning him alive.

He strode to the desk and fished out three galleons. He closed his eyes in concentration. Ginny watched him, summoning another agent. The coins, Hermione's DA ideas, were still being used for communication. Even though they still used the protean charm, their spell researchers had added to the charm to make it complex. They'd devised code words to activate the coins. Every agent had their own communicator which was code and voice activated. Obviously their coins could only be used by themselves or the leader. The coins recognized the leader's voice. Field agents had their specific codes to communicate between themselves during secret raids. It was complex, deep and basically impossible to penetrate and trace.

_Basically, _Ginny thought ruefully, _that was the point._

What made their organization even more impenetrable was the fact that only seven hand-picked individuals out an army of almost three thousand from all over Europe knew the name of their leader. Out of those only three knew the actual head quarter locations.

The second-in-command to the leader, the head of death-eaters and the Weasleys.

Ginny watched the man slam the coins back into his drawer. He clawed a hand through his hair. The action shot a jostle of reminiscence through Ginny. She stamped down the memory and squared her jaw. She refused to feel anything for this shell of a man standing before her. It just really sucked that she couldn't completely ignore him since he was the father of her son.

"Give this mission to me" she lowered her voice "I'll find Hermione."

He shook his head. "I can't" his voice didn't hint at one hint at remorse "you are a mother."

"So are half the woman of this organization," she spat "Yet most of them are doing field-work."

"You're the mother of my child," he said, curtly "I can't let you risk your life."

"You're a bloody bastard" the welling of rage inside her would've shocked her if she had considered it. "I'm a part of this fucking war too!"

"I won't risk my son growing up with out a mother." He mouth curled in anger "I know what that feels like, I won't let that happen to Max."

Ginny wanted to scream; she wanted to kill. She hated this man. She hated him.

"I want the mission to locate Hermione," she hissed "not go on a bloody raid."

Her turned away from her and clasped his hand behind himself.

"Hermione's involved with the Crusaders." He told her, curtly "we don't know how or why but she is."

"The Crusaders heal," she snapped "they don't kill."

"They hate purebloods" his voice was cold "Blood-traitors or not."

"How come we know so much about the Crusaders?"

"We don't know much, you know as much as we do," he replied "we just found out from our spy that she is involved."

"So it's your final decision?" she asked "you won't give me the mission?"

"Yes" his voice didn't bode any argument.

"Very well," she said, tightly "I'm pulling out from the observer's point. I'm taking Max and going to my mother's. Don't visit until you've changed your mind or finished Voldemort."

With that she slammed the door behind herself.

Harry Potter stayed rooted to the spot, her voice echoing in his head.

"Don't count on it." He said to the empty room.

He knew that they had a very good chance of winning, even though the biggest army was neither his nor Voldemort's. The largest army was the Crusaders. His organization, Alliance relied mostly on magical weapons and creatures and so did Voldemort's. But what the Crusader didn't have in weapons they made up for it in numbers and muggle supplies. Crusader was an all-muggle organization. And most, if not all of the muggles were a part of it. Not to mention muggle-borns. Even his biggest resources hadn't managed to find out who the leader of the sojourn was. The merging of the Crusaders and Alliance would be the biggest asset since the Order of the phoenix dissolved into the organization. Both in numbers and medics and besides anyone who managed to smuggle spies into the Ministry of magic _and _the muggle world had to be big with strategy.

Finding Hermione Granger had become much more important. With the brains that the Gryffindor girl had, she was probably immersed deep inside the Crusaders. If he got to her, he could get to the leader. But an even more pressing reason was present. It was time that Hermione was brought into the fold. They would need her to restore magic within the muggle blood. Harry also suspected that his friend had one of the hocruxes with her. but most of all, it'd been too long since had seen any of his best-friends.

He had his leads on Ron Weasley. He protected the red-haired man, who was his reclusive second-in-command. It was his other best friend who had been out of both of their radars for eleven years. He'd have to bring his double agent, the head of death-eaters to complete this delicate mission.

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Ginny was still fuming an hour later pacing in front of her mother's fire place. Max was already asleep or at least she thought so. She didn't notice the small dark-haired boy watching his mother's taut face with worried startling green eyes. The young boy looked no more than four, especially dressed in a shirt a little too big for him. His tiny button nose was an exact copy of Ginny's. Apart from the nose nothing of the little dark-haired boy looked like a Weasley. He was Potter through and through at least where facial features were concerned.

"Mummy?"

Ginny jumped about a foot in the air. She whirled around, her face immediately softening seeing the worried frown on her son's little face.

"Max," she scolded lightly "you're supposed to be in bed."

He shrugged, the gesture so reminiscent of his father that she almost broke down.

"I'm not sleepy, mummy" he pouted just a little "Are you angry again?"

Ginny watched affectionately as he son's eyes suddenly widened.

"Aww mummy you have dirt on you cheek."

She smiled and said "Would you come wipe it for me, love?"

He scrambled towards the kitchen and before his mother knew it, he'd run across the room with a napkin and started dabbing at her face. Ginny laughed, holding the little body close to herself.

"Calm down, you little thing."

"You're all clean now" the little boy grinned.

Ginny kissed his chubby cheek and tickled him. The boy squealed and flailed his arms and legs laughing. She laughed with him.

"Bed time big boy" she commanded mock-sternly.

He pouted and widened his eyes.

"None of that young man, you're going to bed right now"

"Oh okay." The look of exasperated resignation on the little face almost made her giggle. "if I go to bed now, can I see daddy tomorrow?"

Ginny's smile faltered. "We'll see darling" she told him "Now off you go!"

She sank into the couch and buried her face in her hands after she saw him enter his room. Harry could say whatever he wanted. She was the one who was going to locate Hermione

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A new day was supposed to be bright. It was suppose to bring new beginnings. A new year was supposed to wriggle out all types of resolutions from people. Yet when Hermione woke up on the morn of the first day of 2019, all Hermione could think about was that this winter was her last. Of course she didn't know that but she wanted it to be. The Crusaders were powerful and resourceful enough to carry on by themselves. It wouldn't make much of difference if she lived anyway. Only a handful of members even cared if the founder of the army was alive or not. It wasn't about war, even if it had started that way. It was about saving lives.

The weather was dreadfully cold. The fire in front of her wasn't doing much to keep her warm. She felt about for her warmer jumpers from the good ole' days and hopefully a heavier cloak then the brown one she was wore. Her toe was frost-bitten and poking out of the hole in her sock. Hermione's groping hand discovered what she was looking for. Swiftly, she pulled it over her head and wrapped her blanket around her self. Her previously thick gloves were getting too thin for her to wear. Winter was a terrible time for everyone. The pond water they usually drank in the other seasons became ice and the food froze like nobody's business. Everyone had to rely on muggle supplies for food. Which didn't sound terrible but it was. Since waiting for the food would mean going hungry for three-to-five days.

Hermione stood up, unsteadily and pulled her muddy boots on. She would have to visit the fortress and check for developments in replicating the gene resistant to the plague. Then she would have to assign the smuggling of basic medical facilities for a new batch of patients coming in.

She cut her way between the cluster of people crowded around the big fire to the boarded entrance to the fortress. It was trap-door, rather like the one the golden trio had found the giant three-headed dog, Fluffy guarding. She grasped at the round knocker-like handle and pulled it open. With her foot she felt about for the ring of the ladder and lowered herself down the space when she found it, simultaneously shutting the trap-door.

"Hiya Hermione." A big, bear-like man greeted her. "didn't see ya las' nigh'"

"Remy" Hermione grasped his outstretched hand in a handshake. "too tired."

He nodded and turned away when somebody tapped him on his shoulder. Hermione proceeded to the meeting section. A snoozing bald man sat on a wicker chair, his head slumped on the worn-looking table. His arms are bent on the table, resting on various wrinkled papers. Hermione gave a crooked smile at the sight.

Richard Gelting, the sleeping man was Hermione's second-in-command. He was the second man Hermione had recruited twelve ago, responsible for the strategic planning for most of the missions. Richard didn't like active 'dirty' work, he much preferred planning. Unlike Hermione, who led as many missions as she possibly could carry out; Unless they were ministry-based. Although Hermione had desperately wanted to enter the ministry to steal into Department of Mysteries to sneak a time-turner and go back into time, she had refrained herself. There was no use getting herself killed. But she'd already come to a decision. She would lead a Ministry robbery. In fact, she'd lead the group that was supposed to go in this week. The Half-blood spies were too low in their ranks to get to any specific Department to steal anything but old Medic Scrolls used in making potions.

"Richard?" she shook him, gently. "Richard wake up"

The man grunted and woke up with a start.

"wha- what happened?"

He noticed her standing and blinked. "It's you."

Hermione snorted "Who else has the guts to shake you awake?"

Richard grinned casting light upon his rather crooked teeth. "Why'd you shake me awake you minx?"

"Has the ministry robbery been carried out?"

He smiled at her ruefully and shook his bald head. "Supplies are declining extremely fast." He said. "at this rate we'll be out in a month or so. No one's paying much attention to the ministry, we're too busy keeping the patients alive. Most of the muggle hospitals have been raided out."

"Is that a rough statistic or a thorough one?"

"It's the final statistic" he replied "A month would be the most."

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "That's going to make thing very difficult."

Richard nodded. "Any ideas?" he asked her, taking in the sudden spark in her brown eyes. He mentally rolled his eyes at the obvious indication of something resembling a plan in her head. Here he was, awake the entire night trying to think of plan B and, damn the woman, it didn't even take her five minutes.

"The ministry" she blurted out. "That's it."

He shook his head. "Hermione there's no way we can get in the ministry," he looked determined. "and steal the incoming shipments. The probability of discovery is much too high."

"I know the ministry grounds by heart, if you've forgotten." She reminded him. "we really need those supplies, don't we? Besides the Ministry is one place where we could get the latest magical medic equipment and throw out the rusty ones."

Richard didn't look like he had much in him to argue her out of the mission. He shoulders drooped.

"I don't like it, Granger" he growled.

"C'mon" her tone warranted that she wasn't budging, "we might have the best Muggle equipment, but most of the symptoms of illnesses our patients are showing are magical. They'll get the best treatment magically."

"You're not going to give up the mad-arsed idea?"

She shook her head and confirmed the denial. Richard sighed, feeling every inch of his fifty-five years.

"Just be careful, girl."

"I will." Hermione winked at him and walked away to the research section. This mission would be her last. She'd hand over the army control to Richard and smuggle herself out of England. And that was to be that.

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Harry Potter jumped put of bed, clutching his wand when heard a distinct crash from the floor below. He dug into the pocket of his jeans, searching for his communicator. Even though nobody knew the location of the head quarters, Harry still didn't like to take risks. If there was one thing he'd learn through years and years of training, it was constant vigilance. He stood against the wall and nudged the bedroom door open with his feet. He slowly edged out of the room and glanced down stairs from the narrow banister.

"HARRY??" a familiar voice bellowed his name "You there mate?"

Harry didn't lower his wand. "RON?"

"Yeah it's me mate" then he heard Ron's laughter "you don't believe me, do you?"

"What are you most afraid of Ron?" Harry asked.

He heard another snort of laughter and then the man's reply "You mean apart from my mom?" the man's voice rankled with mirth "Spiders."

Harry lowered his wand and pocketed, while hastening down the stairs. There stood his red-headed best friend, grinning widely. Harry smirked at the man.

"Been a while, eh?"

"A while?" Ron looked incredulous "It's been five years, you arse. What kind of man doesn't communicate with his best friend and second-in-command directly for five bloody years?"

"You tell me"

"A bastard like you." Ron retorted.

Harry laughed "It's good to see you."

Harry strode towards the cocky red-head and gave him a one-armed hug.

"How's the mission?"

Ron groaned. "You still talking about missions?" he asked "Gimme a break and tell me about this urgent meeting."

"We'll talk in the morning about that."

Ron nodded his assent and grabbed a wrapped sandwich from the table and started munching on it.

"I'm famished." Ron told him.

Before Harry could reply to the statement, his communicator burned. He drew it out from his pocket. The galleon was glowing. That would mean that the leader of the death-eaters was coming over. The operation was about to begin in earnest.

The dark lord's reign had gone on long enough. Even the pure-blooded community was getting restless. They were growing tiresome over a man who'd ruled for twelve years. The general fear of being slaughtered for Voldmeort's amusement worried not only the muggle- borns, muggles and half- bloods, but also the pure-bloods. Voldemort, first and foremost was a power-hungry creature. His mad experiments and expeditions to gain that power harmed humans and magical creatures alike in thousands to further his own means. Because of his personal resources, Harry knew that Voldemort was frantically hunting for his remaining Hocruxes. The Dark lord had deemed that his soul was much more protected in his almost non-material body than in material objects. For the past five years the Alliance had been fiercely protecting the Hocruxes from his reach. If Hermione was indeed still hiding the Hocrux-the one that Alliance hadn't been able to locate- then she was in much more danger than Harry had anticipated.

Harry had put off the decision to start an active war for too bloody long. The department branches were in outrage over the prolonged delay in action.

Harry sighed. He had hoped to, but he couldn't put it off forever. The troops were going to march this year.


	2. Ans so the pendulum starts swinging

**Chapter TWO: First night of 2019**

Hermione stood in front five of her best men and women thieves, all lounging around the round table of the fortress languidly. Although she mentally winced at the 'thieves', it wasn't as if there was any other title to address them. Robin Hood may have helped thieves but it didn't change the fact that he was a thief… as was Hermione.

"All right all of you," Hermione addressed them "you know the risks. Chances are that the higher echelons of ministry have changed their initial position since the last update. This is a search and steal mission and there are three rules; get where you can, get what you can and get out."

All the members of their little party looked grim, but nevertheless nodded their acquiescence.

"The half-bloods should enter first," she continued, "Finnegan, Koontz, if you do, you have to hold the gates off as long as you can but be three seconds shy of the alarm. Do you know how long that will be?"

Seamus Finnegan shrugged "Gives us about ten-eleven seconds."

Hermione frowned "Ten or eleven, I need particular details; we're vague enough on the rest of the mission as it is." Hermione said, briskly "The least we can do is enter the building without raising an alarm."

"Which," Dawn Koontz pointed out; flicking a blond strand of hair out her eye "is the most difficult part of the entire mission."

"Well we have to do the best we can."

"One question, capn'" the voice of Lucas Jordan, drawled "If one of us does find the unit for legal trafficking, how are we suppose to transport the materials single-handedly?"

_Ahhh…that._

"That was the main subject of our meeting today."Hermione replied "And there's only one way it's possible. Magic."

They all looked flabbergasted. Hermione continued before anyone else could interrupt.

"There is a spell; a very ancient one. It hasn't been used in a long time but most documented cases that I've come across say that the spell is effective."

Dawn groaned "And what do we have to do in this spell?"

. "Magic exists in everyone's blood," Hermione replied,"even if it's more in wizards' than in a muggles'. We have to channel all the magic we can summon from our blood use it. This spell enables us to combine our excess magic and produce a sort of temporary wand. To use this spell, however we have to use only potential wizards and witches. We'll only use our excessive magic but if we involve full muggles they'll lose essential core magic seeing as they don't have the excess, and they'll cease to exist."

Her thieves looked dumfounded.

"Ermm…wow" Ema Garfeld commented. "Temporary wand, you say?"

"Cease to exist?" Seamus raised an black eye-brow.

"Well," These were the scary parts."There's a distinct possibility that the spell may suck a lot of the magic from our blood into creating the wand. In fact, it might be enough to render us squibs. A soul needs core magic to keep it…replenished and whole after all the things human beings generally suffer. Basically losing core magic can be equated to the effects of a dementor's kiss."

"The magic that pours from a wizard's or witch's blood, or in this case, our veins," Lucas Jordan pressed. "We do get our magic back, don't we?"

"Well, we should if we are present at the time the wand diffuses back into the magic…or more commonly known as energy."

"And if we aren't present?"

"The energy will be transformed into another form completely, if the host isn't there to absorb its natural form. Magic energy in the atmosphere is very unstable; it can't exist in that form."

The silence was acute and deafening for the next few moments until Seamus let out low whistle "Damned if you do; damned if you don't."

"This is a combined decision." Hermione continued "I won't force you, but just remember: it's the question of six of our magical abilities against the _lives_ of hundreds of people."

And with that Hermione roused herself from her chair and prepared to leave five, very serious people in her wake; but before she could do so:

"Boss?" Ema Garfeld's voice stopped her. Hermione turned to face them again. "We're ready when you are."

Hermione looked at all of their faces for a long time, understanding that they cared for the people and they were doing it for the people. Something in her chest constricted when she understood that it was something that she didn't quite remember to do- this caring. She nodded jerkily, shocked at feeling of pride mingled with envy and walked out of the make-shift room.

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The tall red-headed man slipped out from behind column separating his room and the meeting room. He quickly donned on his cloak to hide his face as Hermione Granger passed by him. Her familiar face was a mask of taut tension and from what he had just overheard; she had every right to be tensed. By God, a ministry mission! A spell to drain her blood of magic! The Alliance couldn't have chosen a better time to recruit Hermione.

He'd watched her for the past few months, operating as an independent spy of the Alliance. She always lay low and keeping that in mind, he knew that planning this mission and actively leading a stake-out was out of M.O for the Hermione Granger she had become. Most days she tended to stay out of the fortress; sometimes even during the nights; Sometimes she disappeared for weeks to go to dangerous places for a muggle-born. And he knew she generally carried out lone missions that went against the laws of the Crusaders. He had the distinct impression that the woman didn't really give a damn.

He hastened to tail her from a safe distance, taking care to keep his pace unassuming and casual. He stopped at a little distance from the gateway of the fortress, as she climbed out. After waiting for ten seconds, he followed her. He was extra careful now-a-days, suspecting that Hermione had felt him spying around sometimes. For the very reason, he'd kept a distance from her but remained extraordinarily diligent in keeping her in his sight at all times, even refraining from contacting his family in order to not distract himself. This spying business, no matter how many times he did it, always caught him unprepared for the separation from the human world; well the barely human world. He had to contact his brother, his mission here was probably over.

Training Dragons had been so _so_ much simpler.

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Hermione felt a twinge of regret at the condition of Diagon Alley but it was swiftly overruled by the grim satisfactions that her kind was not the only ones suffering the Wizarding World's pandemic. The purebloods were just as scorned and demeaned, although it seemed (from what Hermione had seen on her secret and risky trips to the pureblood domain) that they were more distressed about the drop in the ranks as opposed to the effect of diseases in their general population. Whilst half-bloods and muggle-borns had retreated to the sanctuary of lands outside the Wizarding World, the purebloods, in their self-righteous indignation refused to believe that their services and the promises made to them by Voldemort had been so easily discarded.

Hermione mentally squirmed at the prickling sensation at the back of her neck, choosing not to turn around and check if she was being watched. There wasn't any point, she knew, with every fiber of her being that she was being tailed. She hadn't spent eleven years wandering about aimlessly. There were so many people of her caliber, hidden behind the comfort of anonymity provided by dark cloaks that no one bothered with a second glance. So she had taken chances; spied; observed; stole valuable things that had lost their value with the knowledge that if she was caught she would be killed without a thought. She was one of those things that had lost their value. In some perverse way maybe she had wanted to be caught; to put an end to this farce of a world and her hollow misery. Yet she hadn't and so many years later she was feeling the awareness of being Hermione Granger again; of being followed and not being the ghost anymore. It terrified her, knowing with certainty that someone outside of her choosing knew who she was. She hoped that they never found what she carried under the voluminous bulk of her robes.

The shops that lined the streets of Diagon alley were not as pretty as they used to be. They were dark, dirty and carried items of absolutely no magical value. The Dark Lord, it seemed, didn't want his Wizarding population privy to knowledge of that sort lest they form plots with their knowledge to overthrow him. Voldemort, for all his power, was curiously paranoid about the people with or without power. Although forcing his followers into this kind of life, Hermione thought, perhaps gave him a reason should the purebloods decide to come out of their indignation and combine their power. That wasn't to say that he hadn't taken precautions; for all his paranoia, the bastard was clever. He'd deliberately kept some of the society's elites in their positions while demoting others to the street life thereby keeping them alienated and divided.

Hermione felt something streak past her worn boots but instead of looking down, she discreetly stared at recreated Ministry of Magic. Voldemort had decided he didn't care much for the underground offices and had ordered the infrastructure of a new Ministry of Magic and, of course, being the tyrant he was, made sure it was finished within an impossible six months. They changes had taken place eight years prior. The building was a huge dome-like marble structure, exquisite in stature and utterly huge, even bigger than Gringotts. It should have looked like a sprawling monster had Voldemort remained true to his inner evil. Perversely though, Voldemort had settled for marble the color of fresh snow belying the true nature of his ministry. One had to appreciate the irony of such a choice and that with the exception of utter disregard to human life, Voldemort reveled in beauty. Hermione knew that the inside was just as majestic seeming as the outside having once gone inside in the guise of one half-blood spy. This was back when she could still channel her magic without too much trouble. But years of no use had probably rendered her magical ability quite dormant.

The doors were of dark carved wood, she recalled, and heavy. They relied on the imprint of wands, recognizing a magical wand or a magical human being. She knew she had been able to pass through the door because of the magic in her blood. Voldemort had probably not estimated the fact the muggle-borns would try to get into the Ministry Of Magic. What he had not counted was that he was the one with something precious to lose, not them.

Hermione slinked deeper into the shadows as she saw the gates of the ministry swing open. A few wizards in black ministry robes hurried inside, placing their identity cards in the silver hollow spherical container. The doors snapped close, she counted, in exactly ten seconds. Adhering to her strict law of never being seen, Hermione grabbed a small muggle electric zapping device, the ones designed to stun the victim unconscious, from the depths of her voluminous robes and slipped into group of people passing by her. She discreetly made her way, horizontally edging towards a lone, blonde-haired woman in ministry robes. The woman wasn't, Hermione observed, paying attention to her surrounding, instead digging in her bag. In fact she was so busy, she didn't even notice Hermione slipping behind her under the shade of the Ministry gate and zapped her from the back with just enough voltage to make the blonde dizzy and uncoordinated. The woman swayed slightly and Hermione grabbed the identification card that hung from the edge of the woman's purse and swiftly edged into the shadows again, making her way behind the building. Hermione knew the price of losing a ministry-identification card was punishable by a week-long arrest. She felt a twinge of guilt for the woman she'd just left but consoled herself knowing that they had their own ways to obtain extra cards. It didn't justify her thievery but it made her feel better. And just sometimes, that was the only thing that mattered.

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Harry surveyed the room full of uniform clad forms in the room, his own uniform similar to them with the exception of an invisibility cloak that he'd wrapped around himself. He stood beside Ron hearing his best friend issuing the recent orders that he himself had given.

Ron was explaining the function of the newly issued uniforms and how the soldiers were supposed to use them. Uniforms were a tradition, Harry had declined to follow. Discretion was the unbreakable law of the Alliance but now that Harry was prepared to publicly declare war on the Dark Lord and his regime, this was a symbol of war that had become both, a necessity and a symbol of identity for his soldiers. The uniforms, specially designed dark blue robes, thought-out with the combined efforts of Ron's brothers, Fred and George and his ally, the head death-eater. The robes had an inbuilt defense mechanism, exclusively an invisibility charm that had been meticulously fused with a low level shield charm for the most basic of defense. One just had to know the activation words. If they had employed a high quality shield charm with the high level invisibility charm the fusion would've been extremely unstable. Harry had thought becoming invisible offered a better defense, no matter how cowardly; because the war had ceased to be about honor eleven years ago. This was the ultimate fight for survival.

Ron's loud order of dismissal jarred Harry back to the room.

"Harry?" his second-in-command enquired. "You still beside me?"

Harry quietly re-said the activation words to de-activate the invisibility charm. In a gravelly voice he said, "You think they're ready to fight the war in an active battle field?"

Ron shook his head ran a hand through his shaggy red-hair. "I don't think they're ready, I don't even know if I'm ready. But who is ever ready for a war?"

Harry didn't reply thinking that he should've been ready for a war. They all should've been; after all, the war had been decades in coming. But in the back of Harry's mind, he knew that he was more ill-prepared than he'd all been all those years ago when the folly and bravery of a naïve seventeen year old had goaded him and he'd agreed to the biggest mistake of his life. Now all these years later he had so much, _much _more to lose than he'd had before. He wasn't sure if the desire to love and be with his son made it a liability or offered him his biggest strength.

"Nobody is ready for it." Harry finally replied, the realization burning hollow at his gut. "But that doesn't change the fact that it has to be fought."

Ron's nod was that of resigned acquiescence.

"I had a message to pass to you." Ron's voice broke a minute-long silence. "It's Max, he wants to see you."

Harry small smile was one-sided. "I don't think Ginny would let me that's why I haven't contacted her."

Ron grinned "She might hate your guts right now, mate but she'd do anything for Max just like you would."

Harry did miss his son. It never ceased to surprise him that the only emotion that sparked in his burnt out emotional side was brought about by his son. It amazed him that four year old boy was the very centre of his world, was his purpose for everything; was his only weapon for his survival. Being a father might have been Harry's most difficult role but it was one role that Harry wouldn't relinquish for anything in the world. Not even seeing his parents again. Max was his reason; his very sanity; his son.

Harry made to leave for the apparition point just a few feet from them when Ron's voice stopped his stride.

"Just one more thing," His best friend called out. "Charlie contacted me."

Harry turned to face him.

Ron continued. "He's been trailing Hermione for a while," Harry's eyes narrowed as he waited. Ron's voice had turned grave. "Apparently she's decided to undertake one of the Crusader's biggest missions for the first time in years."

Harry felt a distinct foreboding instinct rise up his spine.

"She's leading a muggle weaponry armed group into Voldemort's ministry."

Harry felt the pounding start in his head. "What?"

Ron's face was grim. "That's not all. She's decided to use a spell, for powers of apparition. The spell drains the magic from the blood and creates a temporary wand. If the spell-caster isn't around when the wand wears off the diffused magic will cease to exist and the caster will become a squib."

Harry's vicious curse echoed in the clearing.

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The family ring he'd adorned weighed heavily on his fingers. His trek through the dense cluster of trees accounted for the tiny bruises and cut on his wand hand. Voldemort's lair had been built at the dense edge of the forbidden forest after Hogwarts had been torn down eleven years ago. In his mind's eye he could still see the bodies that had cluttered the fields; bodies of fellow students he'd known; of his friends and enemies. In the array of black robes the students' house badges had stood out, starkly. Some had been killed in the cross-fire and others had died fighting for the cause their naïve selves had believed in. And even after so many deaths, few survivors had been moved; had exemplified their deaths as the cause for more deaths. While all this time, he'd watched from afar, wanting nothing more than to run away from his own legacy. Being the head of death-eaters gave him the very much craved release from the mindless killings that junior death-eaters pleasured themselves. He'd done everything he'd had to, for the past decade, to shoot up the ranks; to be the right-hand man of Voldemort.

He'd wondered why he'd been summoned. Maybe it was to watch another pure-blood trial. It was almost as if the bastard knew what watching his fellow pure-bloods be tried and executed did to his head death-eater. Those pure-bloods begged and groveled for their life; re-pledged their allegiance, yet nothing would earn them their pardon. And when Voldemort was done being amused at the pleading they were brutally executed.

He'd almost reached the lair when the communicator coin in his pocket burned into his skin through his clothes. The cool mask of indifference slipped not one notch even though he knew that being called in the middle of the night by the Alliance was an emergency. Potter, otherwise would not have called him in the middle of the night. He pushed all thoughts of the Alliance into the back of his mind and created a shield over his thoughts while he made his way inside the underground layer. The walls of the passage were lined with burning torches of blue fire on the either side of him. The passage, he knew, consisted of a series of detectors so as not to let anybody but Voldemort's requested circle in. If ever someone who wasn't invited entered the passage there wouldn't be enough of the person left to even fill a jar.

He finally came to the end of the passage, reaching an ornate marble panel. He placed one hand on the panel and with the other drew out his wand and placed it alongside the hand. The panel would recognize his blood and the core of his registered wand. The panel slid open to admit him inside the long elegantly furnished throne room. Voldemort's innate need for grandeur had never ceased to amuse him. The chamber was lined with candelabras and a long table, always laden with food-rather like the ones that had been in Hogwarts- running through the centre of the room. At the end of the room, on a higher platform sat Salazar Slytherin's old lavish throne where Voldemort presided most of the time. He was sitting there today, his pet snake coiled around the legs of the throne. He made sure his mind was completely clear and resumed his walk along the table towards the dark Lord, his steps confident and sure completely in sync with his status as the head of death-eaters and the one of the most powerful men in the Wizarding communities.

He performed a shallow bow and straightened, keeping his thought and expressions in check and looking directly at the hideously stark face.

"Mi Lord." He said keeping his voice calm, quiet and distantly respectful. "How may I be of use to you?"

The sing-son voice that erupted from his Voldemort's throat might've scared him once upon a time but not anymore.

"Ahh quick as always my faithful servant."Voldemort's voice had its perpetual air of mocking and amusement. "Tell me how have you been faring?"

"Quite well, master I thank you."

Voldemort questioned again. "Now with that particular formality out of the way," His grin turned feral "Do you have any news for me about the hunt for the renegade death-eaters?"

"We have discovered the whereabouts of Theodore Nott," he replied "he hasn't left the country yet."

"Then why hasn't he been brought in?"

He kept his body still, well in tune with lying. "Our men have been tailing the rogue in hopes that he leads us to their hideout." He paused then continued "If we find nothing within the end of this week we'll capture Nott."

The sardonic amusement in his dark Lord's voice increased a notch. "Tell me, isn't your best friend one of those rogues? What will you do if you find him?"

He made sure his voice was appropriately hard. "If he is, he is no longer any friend of mine. I will kill him."

Voldemort tapped his long, skeletal against the pale chin, his red slits of eyes narrowed. In a low, controlled and cruel voice he hissed. "I want him alive; I want_ them_ alive"

"As you wish, mi Lord."

With a wave of those gnarled hands the dark Lord dismissed him. Just as he turned away and started making his way back the cruel sing-song voice stopped him, cold.

"Careful, servant...be very careful."

He half-turned and performed another shallow bow and strode out of the cold, long chamber. He wasn't stupid; he knew that Voldemort didn't trust him; didn't trust anyone except his precious Nagini. He knew that Voldemort would exploit any signs of weakness that he would have the misfortune to expose. But Zabinis didn't make mistakes and Blaise refused to be the first to do so.


End file.
